I realized I inadvertently conducted an experiment on Facebook. That experiment being, "Who has a better memory, men or women?".
I wrote a Note to 20 random friends listing 20 memories I had of them. The object of the 'game' was for each person to identify which memory corresponded to them. Easy, right? No. I didn't mean to, but it so happens that I sent the Note to 10 male friends and 10 female friends as I had randomly selected people off my MSN list.
Within 24 hours of posting the Note, all the females got theirs right and all but one male friend (although Jeff's was pretty easy) figured out theirs. It was amazing. Now, I can understand if some of those guys didn't care for my Note and didn't feel like responding, but judging from Alex's desperate cluelessness and complete inability to even remotely identify himself, even with more than half the options gone, this might be a common happening with most guys.
There is a notion that males have a hard time remembering things. Not just any things, though. They don't remember things like special dates (wedding, birthdays, anniversaries), or special moments (first kiss, first dates). However, they can remember such obsolete things like specific car models (e.g. BMW GH4o38435498459348XL) or anything Jack Bauer-related. My little social experiment on Facebook proves just so.
Is there some kind of chemical imbalance that males have that completely voids them of anything that has to do with another human? Or are their priorities and sentiments misguided?
Now, that is not to say that I can remember specific things like the date of every time I had a 'first'. Hell, I couldn't even tell you the months or even years. To me, dates are irrelevant and unimportant. Anniversaries don't really mean anything to me (but guys, that doesn't mean it doesn't matter to other chicks so you're not off the hook). Instead, I tend to keep 'mementos' of moments I want to remember. This is my way of 'celebrating' an anniversary date or a first. I keep all this stuff in a box. When you first look at it, it looks like a box of crap. It is. But it's my crap.
Most of it won't make sense to anyone (HAHA but I'm sure about half of it will to some). Obviously, the ticket stubs remind me of dates of firsts (those of which I won't go into) and everything else just represent monumentous days of my life. Yeah, it's junk but I really doubt I'll regret keeping any of this. In fact, I don't suppose I'll regret having all the stuff I've kept to reserve memory. Notes, photos, everything. Perhaps one of these days I should just empty the vault and show you guys what I have because you'll be astonished. In fact, I'm feeling a little ashamed that perhaps I'm a little bit of a pack rat. What the hell am I going to do with hundreds of letters written to me from elementary school to high school? Or the mounds of Hanson posters and paraphernalia?
I wonder if guys do these types of things. No, not keep stuff. I don't expect them to keep anything in their possession for more than it needs to be because they're more of the 'live and forget'-type. But even in their heads, do they cherish all these memories as girls do? Perhaps I was wrong in saying that they have bad memory. Maybe they have really sharp memories that can remember significant details of events they want to remember. Or maybe even they have a secret box stashed somewhere in their rooms with the same junk I cherish. An inside joke here and there is nothing really, but perhaps they remember significant points in their lives. Maybe I underestimate them in thinking that they simply don't care enough to remember the things we remember. Or maybe I've been right all along. Hmmmmmmmmmm...
So there's my little Show 'n Tell. How vulnerable do I feel? I pretty much just revealed my being with this box. But perhaps this is part of growing up. I'll close this box and open up another for the next 'saga'. One of these days, perhaps I'll go through all my junk and show you guys some interesting tidbits from my little ol' past. No skeletons in this closet besides shoes, clothes and too many bags... or is there?
A little blast from the past for the Ladies...